I Provoked My Mature Boss Until He Lost Control

My name is Renata, I’m thirty-four years old, and I’ve been married for six years to a man who stopped looking at me at some point I don’t even remember. Since our son was born, his attention has been split between work and the sofa, and I became part of the furniture. I work as an assistant at a distribution company, and although no one would guess it from the way I dress, I know exactly what I’ve got: a body that still turns heads when I want it to.

My tits have always been my best card. Big, firm for their size, with nipples thick enough to show at the slightest draft. I hide them under blouses buttoned all the way to the neck, because I learned early on that showing them too much only causes trouble. My husband complains that they’re heavy, that they get in his way. Me, on the other hand, I know their power better than anyone.

It all started one afternoon over coffee with my friend Pamela, in the bar across from the office.

—Have you seen the new guy they sent us as boss yet? —she said, stirring her sugar with an annoyed expression—. An older guy, all dressed up.

—I saw him —I answered, pretending not to care—. Older? He must be around fifty. I thought he was interesting.

—Interesting —Pamela repeated, laughing—. He’s married, Renata. And they say he’s ice-cold. No one’s seen him smile even a little.

I took a sip of coffee without taking my eyes off the window, where the glass building was visible.

—I’ve always liked a challenge —I said.

—You’re married, in case you forgot.

—My husband hasn’t touched me in a year. He brought it on himself.

Pamela shook her head, amused and scandalized in equal measure, but I wasn’t listening anymore. A plan had already begun to take shape in my head. I wanted a raise, yes, I’d been asking for months with no success. But beneath that there was something simpler and more urgent: I wanted a hard cock to remind me I was still alive.

The man was called Marcelo. In his fifties, silver hair combed back, short trimmed beard, broad shoulders the suit never quite managed to hide. He had the habit of looking you in the eye when he talked, as if he were measuring you. Serious, yes. But seriousness never scared me. On the contrary.

***

I started the next day. In the bathroom, before going into his office with the weekly report, I loosened one extra button. Just one. Enough so that, when I leaned over his desk to leave the papers, the neckline opened a little and showed the lace edge of my bra.

Marcelo looked up. It was only a second, no more, but I noticed him go still, his eyes fixed where they shouldn’t have been.

—Thanks, Renata —he said, and cleared his throat before lowering his gaze to the papers.

—You’re welcome, boss —I replied, with the most innocent voice I could fake.

I got out of there with my cunt throbbing between my legs, wet like it hadn’t been in years. In the elevator I squeezed my thighs together and felt my own juice soaking my panties.

Over the next few days I slowly raised the stakes, measuring every gesture. A coffee that “slipped” onto his desk, and I cleaned it up with my back to him, my tight skirt outlining my entire ass. A meeting where I crossed my legs a little more slowly than necessary and let the fabric ride up just enough on my thigh, almost enough to show I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Marcelo didn’t lose the thread of what he was saying—he was too professional for that—but his eyes drifted to the cunt hidden under my skirt. And every time I caught him, I got a little wetter.

The tension became a silent game between us. He pretended not to look; I pretended not to provoke. He started calling me into “private meetings” to review reports anyone else would have reviewed by email. He adjusted his jacket when I got up to leave, and I knew perfectly well it was to hide the hard bulge between his legs. And I, at my desk, counted the minutes until I could go back in and see how much bigger it had gotten.

A week later I took things further. I went into his office with a heavy box of files, let it “slip” near his desk, and bent down slowly to pick it up. My blouse opened wider than it should have, my tits nearly spilling out of the fabric, my nipples pressing against the lace.

—Renata, be careful —he said, his voice tense, rough.

I straightened up without hurrying and let my arm brush his as I passed. I also brushed his crotch with my hip, as if by accident, and I felt the iron he had under his trousers.

—Sorry, boss —I murmured, almost pressed against his ear.

I heard him swallow. That night, at home, while my husband snored beside me, I shoved two fingers into my cunt thinking about the hard cock I’d felt on Marcelo. I came biting the pillow, imagining him splitting me in two.

***

Friday came. The office emptied early on Fridays, and by six in the evening no one was left on the floor. I knew it. That’s why I waited. And that day I came without panties, my skirt directly clinging to my shaved cunt.

I walked in with the final report, my blouse open more than I had ever dared before, my black bra fully on show. I leaned over his desk and left the sheets in front of him without saying a word.

Marcelo stood up abruptly. The chair rolled backward and slammed into the wall. He grabbed my arm, not with brutal force, but decisively, and made me back up until my spine hit the cold glass of the window.

—You’ve been doing this for weeks —he said, his voice low and loaded—. You think I don’t notice. You think I’m stupid.

—I don’t know what you’re talking about, boss —I answered, though my heart was pounding in my throat.

—You know perfectly well —he clenched his jaw—. A married woman coming into my office to offer herself to me every day. What is it you really want?

I looked him in the eyes and finally let the half-truth out.

—I want a raise.

Marcelo gave a dry laugh, not a trace of humor in it. His hand came up and held my chin, forcing me to look at him.

—I saw your file, Renata. Married, with a child. And here you are, blouse open in my face. —He lowered his voice until it became a whisper—. Fine. I’ll give you the raise. But you’re going to earn it with your cunt and your mouth. And when I’m done with you, you won’t be able to look your husband in the eye.

Something inside me flared up. I had done it. But I hadn’t expected the force with which he was going to take my own game and make it his.

With one yank he finished opening my blouse. The remaining buttons popped and rolled across the carpet. He freed my tits from the bra with his large hands, ripping it downward until the cups folded under themselves, pushing them up like they were on a tray. He stared at them for a moment, like someone finding something they had been looking for for a long time.

—This is what you were hiding —he said, more to himself than to me.

He kneaded them slowly at first, then with purpose, squeezing until his fingers left marks in the pale flesh. He bent down and sucked one nipple into his mouth whole, tugging on it with his teeth, while with his other hand he pinched the other until I let out a gasp I couldn’t hold back. He sucked them one after the other, leaving my skin shiny with saliva. I, who had planned every move for weeks, suddenly was the one losing control.

—The raise —I insisted, in a last attempt to keep hold of the reins—. On one condition.

—You’re not in a position to set conditions —he answered, and his smile finally appeared, crooked and dangerous—. But yes, you’ll get your raise. And you’re going to come get it every Friday, with your cunt clean and your panties in your purse.

***

He yanked my skirt up to my waist. When he discovered I wasn’t wearing panties, he let out a deep, almost animal growl.

—Whore —he muttered, and the word shot through me like an electric current—. You came prepared.

His knee forced my legs apart and his fingers found how soaked I was. Two thick fingers sank into my cunt without warning, all the way to the base, and started pumping me while his thumb rubbed my clit in hard circles. The wet, obscene sound filled the office. I moaned against his shoulder, not recognizing the voice coming out of my own throat.

—Look at you dripping —he murmured, pulling his shiny fingers out and pushing them back in—. Your husband doesn’t touch you like this, does he? He doesn’t even know what a little slut he’s got at home.

I couldn’t answer. I didn’t want to answer. He pulled his soaked fingers out and shoved them into my mouth, forcing me to taste my own juice. I licked them one by one, looking him in the eye, and he lowered his hand back to my cunt and fucked me with three fingers this time, curling them forward, pressing that spot my husband had never known how to find. I came against his hand sooner than I would ever admit, biting my lip so I wouldn’t scream in an office that, even if empty, was still an office. I felt the hot stream run down the inside of my thigh.

Marcelo gave me no respite. He pushed me down by the shoulders until I fell to my knees on the carpet, in front of him. He unfastened his belt, his fly, and took out the cock I had been sensing for weeks. Thick, long, with a purple head and a thick bead of precum glistening at the tip. He grabbed my hair and brought it to my mouth.

—Open wide —he ordered—. Show me what that innocent little mouth is for.

I opened. He shoved his cock in at once, until the head hit the back of my throat and tears filled my eyes. I sucked it hungrily, moving up and down, licking his swollen veins, pressing my lips tight on every withdrawal. I licked his balls, one and then the other, while stroking his shaft with my hand. He held my head with both hands and fucked my mouth at his pace, not letting me breathe.

—That’s it, whore —he panted—. You’re going to learn to swallow it whole.

I choked, saliva dripped down my chin and wet his balls, but I didn’t stop. When he noticed he was about to come, he yanked his cock out of my mouth and pulled me to my feet.

He turned me around and bent me over his desk, over the same papers I had brought as an excuse. He kicked my feet apart so I’d open my legs wider, arched my back with a shove between the shoulder blades, and left me with my ass high, my cunt open and dripping in plain view. I felt his body press against mine, his breathing on my nape, the tip of his cock sliding between my soaked lips.

—This is what you wanted from day one —he said in my ear, rubbing the head against my clit—. Admit it.

—Yes —I confessed, and the word came out broken—. Fuck me already, please.

He drove into me in one dry thrust, balls deep, and I screamed against the papers. I felt him open me all the way, reach where no one had ever reached, stretch me to my limit. He grabbed my hair with one hand and my hip with the other, and started fucking me over that desk with brutal intensity, each thrust making my tits bounce against the wood. The desk shifted. Papers fell. I was nothing but a wet hole opened for him.

—You’re coming every Friday —he repeated through clenched teeth, never slowing down—. And you’re going to learn who’s in charge here. Who’s in charge, Renata?

—You are, boss —I moaned—. You’re in charge.

He delivered a sharp slap to my ass that made my cunt tighten around his cock. Another. And another, until my ass was burning and my skin was marked. He changed the angle, lifted one of my legs onto the desk, and drove into me again from there, deeper, more brutally, until I came a second time all over his cock and down my thighs. My legs were shaking so hard only his hand on my hip kept me standing.

He didn’t stop. He turned me again, sat me on the desk with a shove, and speared me from the front, my legs spread and my tits bouncing in front of his face. He bent down and bit one nipple while fucking me, and I dug my nails into his back over the suit. He looked me in the eye on every thrust, forcing me to hold his gaze.

—Tell me you’re mine on Fridays —he panted.

—I’m yours —I answered, breathless—. On Fridays I’m yours, boss.

I came a third time, one over the other, vision white and voice shattered, leaving the papers a complete mess and my legs turned to jelly. When he finished, he pulled out just in time and came all over my tits, thick, hot spurts splashing my neck, my collarbone, my hardened nipples. I stared at him, mouth open, semen sliding down toward my navel, while he held his dripping cock in his hand.

—Clean off what you can with your tongue —he said, with a calm that gave me shivers.

I collected a drop with my finger and brought it to my mouth, never taking my eyes off him. I watched his cock give one last twitch.

We stayed like that for a few seconds, both of us out of breath. Then he stepped away, fixed his suit with a calm that gave me chills, and became the same ice-cold man as always again.

—Get yourself sorted before you leave —he said, turning his back on me—. And lock up when you go.

***

I got home with my blouse impossible to button, my makeup smeared, dried semen between my tits and the marks of his fingers still warm on the skin of my ass. Luckily, my husband had taken the boy to dinner at his mother’s house. I didn’t have to explain anything, or make anything up, or look him in the eye the way Marcelo had promised. I got into the shower and let the water carry the rest away.

Monday morning, before I’d even turned on the computer, the email from Human Resources arrived confirming the raise. And below it, an internal message from Marcelo, terse, professional, impeccable:

—Good work, Renata.

Three words. Anyone reading over my shoulder would have seen a boss congratulating an efficient employee. Only the two of us knew what they really meant.

Since then, every Friday afternoon, when the office empties out, I stay behind. I go into his office with any excuse at all, a report, a signature, a doubt that doesn’t exist, without panties under my skirt, and I let the most serious man in the company spread my legs over his desk. I come harder on his cock than on anything I’ve ever known in my bed.

And my husband still thinks the raise came from my good performance. He’s not entirely wrong, I sometimes think, holding back a smile while I feel my cunt pulsing under my skirt on the way to the office. It was for good performance. Just not exactly the kind he imagines.